Chapter 6 - The Viper's Entrance
The elevator doors opened, and three men stepped out into the dim light of the restaurant.
In the center was Viktor Saranov. He was in his late fifties, stout, with a round face, cold pale blue eyes, and thin white hair brushed slickly over a blotchy scalp. He wore a heavy dark coat trimmed with fur, despite being indoors.
To his right walked Nikolai—a massive human being over six feet four inches tall, with a completely shaved head, a thick neck, and eyes as dead and unblinking as a shark's. The third man was a younger associate carrying a silver metal briefcase.
Alexi didn't stand up immediately. He waited until Saranov reached the edge of the table before rising with slow, deliberate grace.
"Viktor," Alexi said in English, holding out his hand. "Welcome to Chicago."
Saranov took Alexi’s hand, his grip brief and firm. "Alexi. You look well for a man carrying so many responsibilities."
Saranov’s gaze immediately flicked over to Mara. His pale eyes narrowed with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. He switched effortlessly into Russian.
"Who is the little bird?" Saranov asked, his voice oily and rough. "I thought we were discussing real business tonight, Alexi. Did you bring a mistress to keep you warm?"
Mara kept her face completely neutral, staring straight ahead, remembering Alexi's instructions.
Alexi replied in English, his voice perfectly level. "This is Miss Ellison. She manages my personal documentation and assists with international logistics."
Saranov laughed—a short, wet sound—and took his seat opposite Alexi. Nikolai stepped behind Saranov's chair, standing like a stone monument, his dark eyes locked onto Kirill across the room.
Saranov gestured to his briefcase carrier, speaking in rapid, low Russian. "Sit down, Lev. And keep your mouth shut. If Vulov thinks he can play games with a pretty American girl at the table, he's more desperate than we thought."
Mara sat quietly, her fingers lightly folded over her clutch in her lap. She leaned slightly toward Alexi and whispered in clear, crisp English:
"He believes you are playing games to hide desperation. The man with the briefcase is named Lev."
Saranov’s eyes snapped to Mara. His smile disappeared.
"She speaks Russian?" Saranov demanded in English, looking at Alexi.
May you like
"Flawlessly," Alexi answered calmly, pouring a glass of sparkling water. "I find it saves time when my associate understands everything my guests say about me."
Saranov stared at Mara for a long, uncomfortable moment. A cold, dangerous tension settled over table nineteen, thick enough to cut with a knife.
